Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.

Khamping

“Beautiful!” said the woman plastered into the undergrowth on the high side of the trail.

I kept my response to a simple “Thank you.”

It was entirely possible that she was not referring to me, but to Khramer, the strapping bay arab that I was riding up the trail towards Pete Lake.

But if I accepted on his behalf, I would have to explain that Khramer was not really my horse, that he belonged to Barb, who was ahead of us riding Sera, and that he has a story behind him almost as long as his tail. That would be overkill. I believe the hiker was offering a pleasant acknowledgement and only looking for the same in return, like most of us.

The undergrowth was lush along the Cooper River

So I said thank you to each and every one of the hikers who moved off the trail so that we could pass. Pete Lake is a popular destination and I was indeed thankful that they were humans and we did not have to edge past other horses where there was a steep drop-off towards the river.

Barb had originally had her eye on Jolly Mountain as a potential destination, but an early-morning conversation with some other riders at the Cayuse Campground near Salmon le Sac had ruled that out. Overnighting at the campground meant we had the whole day to play with, but our options were limited by other factors.

The Khampfire

The twice-normal snowpack and a slow spring thaw was keeping a lot of trails inaccessible, either from actual snow or because the trails had been inaccessible for so long they had not been cleared of blowdown. The riders we spoke to weren’t sure about Pollalie Ridge, and the horse camp host was not available in the morning to ask, so we decided to chance it in hopes of some good views.

“Khramer’s going to hate you,” Barb said with glee as we set off up the slope. I didn’t take that to heart, because I knew there was a more powerful female than I involved – Sera exerts a powerful magnetic pull on Khramer.

Seral is a pro on the rocks

That was good, because the first mile or two of the trail to Polallie Ridge was steep, much of it switchback with some rock scrambles and tree root obstacles. We halted several times to let Khramer catch his breath and we had a chance to check out the view. Okay, it was only what realtors call a “filtered view” because we were still in the forest.

Ascending Pollalie Ridge

Trees often serve as symbols of a tranquil existence, but that is not true in the Cascades. Heavy snows, steep slopes and strong winds take their toll.

“One minute you are towering over the rest, and then bam, your on the ground!” I said.

Often you take a couple of your closest friends with you and create a real tangle, like the one I was eyeing as Khramer grazed.

Barb mentioned that much of the trail clearing was done by one young woman on a motorcycle. We mutually enjoyed the vision of a rugged young female with a chainsaw strapped across her engine, though I wondered what bike could make it up this grade.

That's Khramer back there - photo B. Podeszwik

As we came nearer to the top of the ridge and the trail started to level out, we met a couple of hikers who wanted to say hello to the horses,

Khramer fluttered his nostrils and let his head drop to take full advantage of the conversational break. The hikers told us that though we could reach the small but buggy lake, the trail beyond that was pretty obstructed and that they were postholing through the snow.

They also mentioned that they found some kind of a boot-like thing in the mud along the trail.

“My husband likes to keep things as souvenirs,” the woman said a shade apologetically.

“Was it black, with metal cables across the front?” I asked

“Yeah, that’s it,” he nodded.

“Sounds like an Easy Boot,” I said, feeling like I was identifying a bird species for him. I mentioned that the boots were on the expensive side.

“Oh, this one looked pretty worn out.” the man said quickly.

It didn’t sound worth advocating that he leave it at the trail head for whoever lost it.

“I have some other horse souvenirs,” the man mentioned.

“No, don’t tell them about that!” his companion interjected. Her attempts to protect us were in vain.

We heard about the large skeleton they had found up in the Methow Valley. They had followed the trail of bones until a hoof identified it clearly as a horse rather than an elk or a cow.

“The shoe was still on it,” he said.

That was most likely a trail casualty, we agreed.

“She used to have a horse,” he said, explaining his companion’s sensitivity on the subject.

I understood her squeamishness, but it is something to consider if you go into the high country with horses. If they are severely injured and can’t walk out, it is the rider’s responsibility to take care of them humanely – our turn to be brave (and prepared).

But that was just a brief sidetrack, as was our trip up the Polallie Ridge trail.

Khramer found the Cooper River/Pete Lake trail much more to his liking. Because it followed the river, it cut across a lot of creeks. Each one had to be sampled.

This creek was especially interesting - photo B. Podeszwik

Barb recalled how fearful Khramer was of water crossings when he started out on the trail, but now he had the over-enthusiasm of a recent convert. By the tenth stream, I was finding this amusing. “He’s working on his book,” I joked. “Khosmo Khramer’s guide to Cascade Streams.”

Barb had reminded me why his name was spelled with a Kh – he was originally reported to be a Khemosabi descendent. He came from a neglect case, so it took a while for Barb to track down his real identity. Khemosabi is nowhere in his pedigree, and his registered name is now Wajiih El Nefous, but Khramer is easier for people to remember.

It did occur to us that he had worked out that taking a drink was also a way to take a breather. Khramer has been displaying his admirable physique in the show arena rather than on the trails this year, collecting a wall full of ribbons.

In front of every thirsty gelding is often an impatient mare. Sera had already drunk deeply at the first stream and was ready to promote abstinence.

After all, we had a lake to get to. Halfway there, we took a little detour down to the Cooper Lake boat launch, where Sera could indulge her passion for water sports. Although she loves to paw, she does not roll. Apparently the noise is enough, or maybe its the cooling splashes. I don’t know what the local trout made of it.

Sera makes her presence known

Khramer went into the water a few steps, but had no desire to get near the splashing, so we just took pictures. I think that being in the water = break time is not a bad equation to reinforce for a formerly water-phobic horse, anyway. He bravely stepped on the ramp on the way out, after staring it into submission.

It was another four miles to Pete Lake, first along the road, then on trails with enough level ground to allow for frequent trotting. There were lots of hikers coming down, and we queried them about conditions ahead.

The road was a chance for Barb to see Khramer step out - photo B. Podeszwik

Two backpackers with their dog had come from Spectacle Lake, another few miles beyond Pete Lake. This was a place Barb had mentioned a desire to reach.

“It’s partly the name,” she admitted. Once something gets on her list, though, I know Barb will reach it one day or another. It just didn’t look like it was going to be this one.

“We had to go under a lot of downed trees,” was the report. Barb and I glanced at each other. We could maybe deal with “over,” depending on how many branches there were, but “under” didn’t sound good at all.

We might just have to be content with plain old Pete.

Pete's Greeters

At the lake perimeter, we met some other riders just getting ready to head out. They stopped to chat a little while. They were from the Ellensburg/Thorp area, and knew these trails well. One of them worked for the Forest Service, although she was quick to declare she was “off-duty.” We talked about the trail conditions and how many of the higher trails were blocked.

“Are most of your funds going to fire prevention?” Barb asked.

“That’s pretty much it.” The woman answered. Most of the trail clearing is done by volunteers.

“The Back Country Horsemen used to do most of it, but they are aging out,” was the answer to my question about what groups were involved.

“I’ve heard that there is one girl on a motorcycle who does most of it.” Barb said.

“She’s only in the Teanaway.” we heard. That’s one river valley over, but a world away as far as administration goes. She still has our admiration.

Then we talked about the bugs, and I mentioned that they had been a huge factor in one account I read of driving cattle through northern British Colombia, causing the horses to perpetually try to turn around for home.

“Oh, do you mean Grass Beyond the Mountains?” the man on the mule asked, “By Hobson?”

Yes, I did, but the name had escaped me. If you have a chance to read this book, it and the other two in the trilogy by Richmond P. Hobson, Jr., Nothing Too Good For A Cowboy and The Rancher Takes a Wife, can help sustain you through a long winter.

We gave the horses a little rest while we enjoyed the lake. There was a clear view towards Spectacle Lake, where there was what looked like some burn scarring.

“I wouldn’t want to be here in a windstorm,” Barb said.

It’s true, there were quite a few trees around the lake that looked like it wouldn’t take much to knock them down.

The peaks behind Pete Lake - photo B. Podeszwik

Since we were off the horses, Barb took advantage of the opportunity to photograph some of the abundant yellow birds we had seen along the last few miles of the trail. They had thick beaks like finches, and in fact, when I looked them up later, they turned out to be Evening Grosbeaks.

Evening Grosbeak males around Pete Lake - photo B. Podezwik

I didn’t identify the trees that were crowding around the lake, but they could have been spruce. It turns out that Evening Grosbeaks gather in large numbers where the Spruce Budworm is present. As the number of days where the temperature dips below 40 degrees has diminished in recent years, the Spruce Budworm has gained ground on the eastern slope of the Cascades.

I do believe that majority of the trees along the Cooper river trail were likely to be hemlock, the favorite habitat of the Varied Thrush. As the shadows lengthened for our return journey, we heard its call, which sounds like a steam whistle signalling quitting time at the factory. We checked our watches.

“I told the boys we’d be back between 5 and 7,” Barb said.

Her young cousins Victor and Daniel were visiting from Poland, and we had brought them along for the ride. I hoped they knew Barb well enough not to get too stressed if she didn’t show up exactly when scheduled. But we took advantage of the terrain wherever we could to pick up some speed. The first creek crossings Barb slowed to the walk for, so that Khramer could continue his sampling, but she wasn’t going to waste a good canter just to indulge his literary career, and following Sera’s lead, he splashed right through them just like an eventer.

I caught Barb smiling as she checked behind her to see how we were making out.

Khramer gave this stream high marks - it was aerated!

There was another good reason to keep moving. It was the hour when mosquitoes take over the forest. A few days of warm weather and they were quite active.

“I’ve been told they like blue,” Barb said, referring to her light blue shirt.

“I think the darkness of the color is the biggest factor,” I said, having researched that after a long-ago hike in which I noticed they were landing on my father’s brown shirt in excessive numbers. There is some science behind this. Dark colors hold heat, and that is an attractant. It is our emissions that are the other draw – we can’t help giving off the telltale carbon dioxide that helps them zero in on a blood meal.

Where there are bugs there are often fish – at least when there is fast-moving clear water. If I were a fisherman, I’d think this river was worth a cast.

A pool on the Cooper River

In spite of our expeditiousness, it was nearly eight when we turned into camp. If the clopping of hooves wasn’t enough, Khramer’s mighty whinny announced our arrival to Victor and Daniel. We were glad to be back, but even gladder to have gone. I know Khramer shared the first part of that sentiment, anyway!

Daniel helps Khramer get the last pellets

If you are thinking about a trip to Salmon le Sac and Cayuse Campground, here is some information from the Trailmeister website. Barb said the campground has never been full when she has been there, but perhaps trail conditions have driven high country riders a bit lower this year – we came in late and got the last campsite – Lucky 13.

Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.